


i love you (ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?)

by leifstroganoff



Series: dancing with the devil [2]
Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, F/M, Friends With Benefits, idiots to lovers, or enemies with benefits more accurately, there's gonna be angst later but i'll add tags as they become relevant i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leifstroganoff/pseuds/leifstroganoff
Summary: Not manyactualthoughts make their way into her head when she wakes up.At first, she’s almost grateful for the warm body nuzzled into her neck and the arm holding her as close to him as possible. She would like a very heavy emphasis onat firsthere.Then, so many memories from the night before rush back into her brain like a freight train, pushing up panic into her throat.How did they get here?
Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Leif Donnelly
Series: dancing with the devil [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963825
Comments: 59
Kudos: 36





	1. devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so this is a continuation of "take you down another level (get you dancing with the devil)" but you don't have to have read that to read this (tho if youre of age and into it you should but i'm biased), all you really need to know is that they slept together after a late night working at the office 
> 
> i have a lot of plans for this and i'm really excited to finally get it out - i don't have all of it written but i do have it all planned out and i have a lot of inspo so hopefully this won't be a WIP for too, too long but :D yay i'm finally doing something with it :D

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._ Did she mention _shit?_

Not many _actual_ thoughts make their way into her head when she wakes up. _At first,_ she’s almost grateful for the warm body nuzzled into her neck and the arm holding her as close to him as possible. _What?_ It’s nice to be held. She would like a very heavy emphasis on _at first_ here _._

Then, so many memories from the night before of bodies pushing closer and closer together on the conference room table, of the faintest taste of chewing gum and coffee lingering in her mouth and of them stumbling into her apartment (a vague memory of a poster shattering that she _willfully ignored)_ , of a softness and hesitancy that she would never again associate with Leif and then of watching Leif fall apart underneath her and then on top of her rush back into her brain like a freight train, pushing up panic into her throat.

_How did they get here?_

She doesn’t even have alcohol to blame, she knows that. All she has is his dumb smirk and the challenge in his eye and every single opportunity she had to think _‘this is a bad idea’_ and back out. She should have. She knows she should have backed out and then she wouldn’t be here, with him asleep in her bed and horror pooling in her stomach, but his lips tasted deceptively good against hers and when his hands roamed her body she felt her brain turn to _mush._ Maybe it’s not _Leif_ that felt so good, she justifies internally, but just _being with someone._ Sure, that makes sense.

Just when she’s starting to calm down, the panic surges back into her chest when she feels him shift on top of her, before settling when he just groans softly and adjusts where his arm is resting. 

_He’s still asleep_. He’s still asleep and she has time to think. This is confirmed by him nuzzling further into her neck and pulling her somehow _even closer_ to him and _not_ jumping back from her immediately, because if he was awake, he surely wouldn’t _want_ to continue being this close to her. Leif Donnelly and Zoey Clarke are _not_ supposed to be near each other like this or falling asleep practically on top of each other after having (admittedly _very good_ ) sex. That is just not a universe she exists in.

 _And yet._ Here she is, Leif Donnelly snuggling into her neck and breathing softly, possibly the most peaceful she’s ever seen him. She doesn’t _hate it,_ which she thinks is worse than being in the situation in the first place.

No. _No, no, no._ She _does_ hate it, because she doesn’t like or _respect_ anything about Leif. Not his stupidly good work ethic or his stupidly styled hair or his utter disrespect for actual authority, especially in the feminine form. He’s not more than that. He _can’t be_ more than that because that would mean she’d have to rethink her perception of him and honestly? She’s not gonna do that.

This was a casual fuck to relieve tension that had been building for way too long. _That’s it._ And she’s sure he’s on the same page. She just… _has to make sure._

“Leif,” She whispers, half wanting him _not_ to wake up so that she _doesn’t_ have to deal with the inevitably _uncomfortable_ conversation that’s gonna follow. The other half of her just wants the conversation to be _over with_ so the panic in her chest where Leif rests will go away. “ _Hey, Leif._ ”

With a shake of his shoulder, he jolts awake with a, quite frankly _adorable_ (and she’s not gonna confront _that thought_ ), sleepy ‘wh-’. After several blinks of his eyes and a palm pressed into one of them, accompanied by a groan and rolling off of her and onto his back, he finally looks over at her and seems to start _processing._

“ _Zoey.”_

“ _Leif._ ” 

He looks… She’s not actually sure how he looks. She _wants_ to say he looks surprised or shocked, but he looks more… _tired_ than anything else, despite the gears she can practically see turning in his head. 

“So, we…” He trails off, letting a heavy swallow punctuate what he very clearly doesn’t wanna say. 

“Uh-huh,” She responds, pushing the panic that is still very much present down in favor of staring at the ceiling. 

“Was it…” _Oh, god. Leif, no._ “I mean, did you -” 

“I’m not gonna answer that.” She cuts him off as soon as she’s processed just _what_ he’s stumbling over _trying_ to ask. 

“That’s fair.”

He at least has the decency to look embarrassed, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he also favors eye contact with the ceiling rather than her. 

“But… we _did…_ ” _Jesus Christ, Leif, just finish the damn sentence._

_“Yup.”_

Alright, so _neither_ of them are very good at the _talking about this_ portion of what needs to happen. They never claimed to have emotional intelligence. 

“I’m just gonna jump right in,” Zoey starts, finally sitting up and dragging the sheet with her in a last ditch effort to keep herself halfway decent despite the circumstances. “I don’t really know what came over me last night, whether it was the stress or the tension or the lack of sleep, but, while what happened was…” God, he really doesn’t need this ego boost. “Good. _Objectively._ It was a mistake.”

She looks down at him where he’s shifted up to be resting on one of his elbows and she tries to decipher his usually _very_ expressive face, but it’s just… _unreadable._ She thinks for a second that he’s _disappointed,_ but no, that can’t be it. Then she thinks maybe he’s just still waking up until he gives his head a slight shake and nods.

“ _Yeah.”_

“Right. And, as… good as it was and even though it was just a casual… _thing,_ it should absolutely never happen again, because that would be a very bad idea. Like, of epic proportions.”

“I agree.” He responds very matter-of-factly and she tries not to read too hard into the way his eyes fall and his jaw draws just a little bit tighter than necessary. “And if this is… a casual _thing_ that should absolutely never happen again, it would be… a _very bad idea_ for us to, say, get breakfast together before work.” 

“I think,” She starts again, apprehension clear in her voice at what he’s suggesting. “That if this is a casual _thing_ that should absolutely never happen again, I ask you to leave now and hope my nosy neighbor doesn’t see you and bombard me with questions.”

“That’s… fair enough, yeah.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would die for you if you leave a comment, but also i'm not saying if you leave a comment it'll make me write ch 2 faster but.......... it probably will


	2. it's cool, that's what i tell 'em, no rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes im posting this at 3am no i dont take constructive criticism

She gets Leif out of her apartment surprisingly easily. They get dressed and she lets him use her bathroom to clean up while she allows herself one more minor freakout in her living room (and yes, it _is_ minor and does not involve absolutely spiraling thoughts at all) and then she sees him out and confirms once more that _it can never and will never happen again_.

_Yes_ , when she opens the door for him to leave she goes for a high five and he goes for a handshake and _yes,_ they both immediately go for the reverse, but she’s willing to let that awkwardness slide if it means she doesn’t have to think about this ever again.

And as she closes the door behind him, she lets out a sigh of relief. _She’s in the clear._ She made an awkward mistake (one that might’ve _felt_ very good, but she can’t run her life on _feelings)_ and now she’s determined to move past it. As long as Leif doesn’t make things weird at work (which she can’t actually entirely rule out), she’s _good_ and she can just forget about it forever. And she _wants_ to forget about it, she swears.

She still feels like she’s forgetting something when she leaves for work, though, as she hurries out of her door and starts down the steps. That is, until she’s forcefully reminded just what she’s forgetting by her neighbor’s voice behind her and _shit_.

“Uh-uh, hold it right there, Red.”

_Busted._ She completely forgot about the Mo aspect of this whole affair.

“You wanna tell me why I saw tall, smart, and handsome _fumbling_ into your apartment with you last night? _And_ him leaving said apartment this morning? I thought you couldn’t stand him. Some might use the word _hate._ Most notably _you,_ actually, _many times._ ”

Zoey hesitantly turns around, looking up at Mo where he stands with his eyebrow raised.

“What, are you spying on me?” Half of her response is trying to go on the defense, the other half trying to bring some _levity_ to Mo’s questioning gaze, but it clearly doesn’t work as Mo just tilts his head and looks at her like she grew another head. (And she’s only half sure she didn’t. She’s had a _weird_ day and a half, okay? If sleeping with Leif is on the table of the universe, she’s pretty sure anything is.) “I… do. I mean, I can’t. Stand him. Hate him, as I would say.” Zoey really doesn’t wanna question the hesitation in her own voice or the twisting in her stomach at her words. She _knows_ she isn’t lying to Mo, so why does it feel like she is?

“You were about three seconds away from kissing that nerd goodbye at the door.”

Zoey throws away any hesitation she had at that, choosing to be offended instead because she absolutely _was not._ She had already talked herself through every possible scenario by the time they got to the door and _more_ physical contact with Leif was _not_ one of those scenarios.

“ _Okay_ , so hate might be... a _very strong_ word.”

“Well, I seem to recall something about how, and I quote, ‘that man is like if every slytherin merged with every Jar Jar critic and they were compacted with every Kylo stan into the same shitty person’ and, while I didn't even _want_ to try to decipher that at the time, I certainly got the vibe that that’s all decidedly _negative_.”

“Is there any chance you’d believe me if I said I invited him over for work related reasons?” She feels pathetic, honestly, her tone almost begging Mo to just _drop this,_ if not only so she can stop _thinking about it._

“If you told me you invited him over for _‘work related reasons’_ , I would think you were a hooker, Zoey.” _Wow, tell me how you really feel, Mo._ “You’re not quiet. Don’t try to act like either of you were quiet.”

“Okay, _yes,_ I slept with him. That doesn’t change how I feel about him. Or how he feels about me, for that matter, this dislike was _not_ a one way road.” Which would be _a lot_ easier to believe if Mo looked at least a little bit like _he_ believed her.

“I just don’t wanna see you get hurt. I think you’ve been through enough.”

_Oh._ Okay. So, this wasn’t, like, _a judgement thing._ She suddenly feels much more like she’s in familiar territory, plus the added bonus of Mo clearly caring about her. It would almost be cute if she didn’t still have to think about the fact that she slept with Leif.

“Right.” She says, letting a small smile creep onto her face. “Well, I can _assure_ you, you do not have to worry about that here. It was _casual_ , it’s done, it’s never happening again.”

“Whatever you say, Z.”

* * *

Leif’s morning goes a lot smoother. He’s bone tired and his clothes are far too crumpled for his liking, but he doesn’t have to deal with any interrogations until _after_ he’s had time to stop and get a _large_ cup of coffee. It bothers him more than he wants to admit that he doesn’t have time to go home and change, but he really hopes no one’s paying close enough attention to him to notice that he’s wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day before and he very clearly hasn’t washed or styled his hair. He spends the walk from the coffee shop to SPRQpoint planning exactly what he’ll say if anyone asks, anyways, so he’s more than prepared.

_Except for Tobin._ He was not prepared for Tobin and he feels pretty dumb as he walks into the bullpen and sees Tobin’s clear ‘what gives?’ posture, considering Tobin should’ve been the thing he prepared for the _most._

“Bro, where the hell were you last night? You’re the one who remembers to lock the door, I could’ve _died._ ”

_You can do this, Leif. You can lie to Tobin. Easy as pie._

“And somehow you still sit here before us. A miracle from the heavens.” He avoids eye contact and he can’t help but internally punch himself for how _unsubtly_ he’s doing it. “Seriously, I just stayed pretty late here. Always work to be done, y’know.”

“ _Okay,”_ Tobin draws out, disbelief clear in his voice. “Working late is one thing. _Not coming home_ is another.” He can feel Tobin’s eyes boring into his back as he hangs his backpack under his desk and opens the laptop that sits on top. “ _Dude,_ did you get laid?”

“What?” He can feel his heart rate increasing and a slight sweat forming at his browline as he whips around to face Tobin. “Why would you think that?”

Tobin’s face reads pretty clearly _‘are you kidding me?’_ as he raises his eyebrows.

“Um, _maybe_ because you didn’t come home, you’re wearing the same clothes you were wearing yesterday, your hair’s a mess and you got a venti coffee which you only get when you _didn’t_ get a lot of sleep, plus it's from _Starbucks_ and not one of your cute little family owned places. _And_ because I’m not an idiot. What I _don’t_ get is why you’re being so secretive. I mean, were they hot? Is it someone I know? Are you doing _Rocky Horror_ shadow casts again and you just don’t want me to know?” There’s a beat, as Leif processes all the questions Tobin’s just thrown at him. “ _No_ , there’d be more glitter.”

Okay, so Tobin pays _a lot_ more attention to him than he thought he did. _Cool._

“Dude, chill. I just, uh,” It would be very cool if his brain could think of actual sentences right now, but behind Tobin he sees Zoey walking towards the bullpen and any cool he might’ve had is launched out of the window, of which there are many for it to choose to fly through. “I just…” Tobin is staring at him, a mixture of confusion and worry resting on his face as he watches Leif’s eyes dart from him to behind him where Zoey’s stopped to talk to Simon and then to the floor. “Yeah, I got laid. I, uh, I was feeling kinda weird last night, so I went to a bar and hooked up with someone. It’s no biggie.”

“Uh,” He can feel that Tobin doesn’t believe him. Hell, _he_ wouldn’t believe him. He’s stuttering and jittery and it’s just so much easier to make eye contact with the floor than with Tobin. “ _Okay.”_

_Thank god,_ it doesn’t seem like he’s gonna push it. Leif lets the breath out of his chest and nods his head, looking up one last time to see Zoey finally sitting down at her desk before he turns around, putting on his UV glasses and hoping to actually get some work done.

“But if you wanna tell me where you _actually_ were, I’ll be right here.”

Maybe he should count his blessings that Tobin’s willing to leave it there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont think i can stress how validating comments are and how much it makes me wanna write, literally even if you just comment "ahhhhh i love this" i'll think abt it for three fortnites


	3. can't keep concealin', losing feeling

So… _It happens again._

Despite every voice in her head (and voices outside of her head, for that matter) making it more than clear how absolutely horrible of an idea it would be, she finds herself tumbling back through her doorway with his hands on her hips and her hands using his neck to bring him down to suitable kissing height, pulling him as close to her as she physically can without knocking them both over as they try to walk.

This time, they don’t even bother with getting to her bed, choosing instead for Leif to kick the door closed with his foot and stumble through the hallway into her living room, her wasting no time at all in pushing him backwards onto the couch, taking a disproportionate amount of pleasure in the whine that comes from the back of his throat when he realizes that her lips are no longer on his as he looks up at her, hair already sticking up, uncharacteristically fluffy, from where her hands had made no haste to stop running small digits through it.

She knows it’s only a couple of seconds that she’s looking down at him, but it feels like an eternity, stretching out with every blink of his ocean blue eyes and the heavy swallow that highlights his Adam’s apple and _okay,_ maybe she finally knows what came over her that first time because everything about him seems appealing now, though something in the back of her mind is still telling her to _abort mission,_ get outta dodge (or… kick _him_ out of dodge, she guesses, it is _her_ apartment), reinforcing that this is a _bad idea_ on absolute every front. But as she sinks down onto his lap and quickly brings their lips back together, only half noting how Leif seems to melt into it, pliable and earnest and giving too much and not enough at the same time, it feels like a _pretty damn good bad idea._

It’s just as sloppy as the first time, teeth clashing as they make a horrible attempt at catching their breath without actually breaking the kiss. This time he tastes like he’s been eating vanilla and chocolate all day (she lets herself wonder for a second if he can identify the tastes in her mouth; or if she _has_ any tastes in her mouth) and she once again hates how much she loves it, chasing that intoxicating flavor (which should not be as appealing as it is to her and it should definitely not be as potent as it is; what, is he _trying_ to keep her so drawn in?) with her entire being as his hands roam from where they were holding either side of her torso down to rest on her thighs and all she can think is that she needs to be _closer_ to him, no matter how much that’s literally impossible.

She doesn’t even have tension or a challenge to blame this time. This time it was _all her,_ a whispered request when they were the last ones at the office (she’s not sure if she was lonely or horny or _both_ , all she knows is that he looked pretty worn out with what he was working on; his tie was loosened, he’d lost his cardigan in favor of rolling up the sleeves on his ~~obnoxious~~ patterned button up, stressed fingers had long since pulled perfectly coiffed her into a fluffy mess on top of his head and it was _intoxicating_ to see him that torn apart, a part of her (one that won out concerningly fast over the rest of her) immediately wanted to be the reason he was being torn apart once more), wanting _this,_ wanting to be close to Leif again and wanting everything he has to give her.

She’s lost in her train of thought (and admittedly also in the feeling of their bodies pressed as close as they are together mixed with the sensations of kissing him) when he pulls away suddenly, a pained expression clouding his face as he draws his hand up to his mouth.

“You bit my tongue.” He slurs around where he’s trying not to move the aforementioned bitten tongue.

_Oops._

“Oh, come on. No, I didn’t.”

She’s about ninety-eight percent sure she _did,_ actually, and even if she didn’t, she’d have no way to be sure, as her brain was about a hundred miles away in _Zoey-land_ when he’d pulled away. _But_ she has a pretty good idea of what’ll make him forget about it.

“ _No_ , you definitely -”

He finds it much harder to care about the petty argument when she’s moved her lips down to his neck to exploit the spots that she’s now more than well aware will draw a low, throaty moan out of him before scraping her teeth over his Adam’s apple, predicting the thrust of his hips that that would provoke.

“Mhm, I think we both have more important things we could be focusing on right now.”

* * *

Waking up to Leif practically on top of her isn’t nearly as much of a shock the second time, though it’s much more _uncomfortable_ on the couch (and there’s absolutely no way she can justify in her head that there’s any world where _he’s_ comfortable with his head shoved into her neck and his feet angled up over the armrest, one of his arms bent to rest next to her torso and underneath himself) and she notices that it’s not yet morning, the only light streaming through her blinds being that of the streetlights.

She doesn’t wanna acknowledge (and she _won’t_ acknowledge, for that matter) how… _easy_ it feels to wake up with him with the absence of her initial panic. If she doesn’t think too hard about how he’s too tall for the couch and the couch itself was definitely not meant to fit more than one person horizontally, he fits almost perfectly in the crook of her neck and when she’d woken up their breathing had been almost in perfect sync. Inwardly, she curses herself for being _so_ in sync with _Leif Donnelly. C’mon, Zoey._ Though, she supposes if she’s gonna beat herself up for _that_ , there’s a lot more worthy things she’s done tonight; like sleep with him again, for one. That one’s pretty far up there.

“Leif,” She says his name softly, nudging his arm and it feels almost exactly like it had only a few days prior. He doesn’t budge, a soft groan coming from the back of his throat as he nuzzles into her neck again and if you had asked her at any point previous to this _tryst_ (though, she supposes, she’s unsure why she would have an opinion) she _really_ would not have thought that Leif would be such a sleepy cuddler. _They say you learn something new every day, huh?_

“Hey, Leif.” She says his name at her regular speaking voice now, shaking his shoulder and he jolts awake with a start, spilling off of the couch and barely managing to catch himself on the coffee table in front of him to prevent slamming his head into it. It takes her a lot more effort than she’s proud of not to laugh as he blinks up at her in his boxers.

“ _And good morning to you, too_ ,” His voice is rough with sleep and he closes his eyes and pushes both palms into them to clear his head before giving his head a soft shake. “Or, uh, good night, I guess.” He comments, glancing towards the darkness outside before climbing back up onto the couch where Zoey is now sitting criss-cross-applesauce and has, in an attempt to cover up _anything_ , grabbed the nearest shirt to her from the floor, which just so happened to be his sweater. She can’t quite place the look in his eye when he registers that she’s wearing it.

“So…” Zoey draws out, eyes choosing to focus on her hands in her lap rather than on Leif to her left.

“ _So…”_ Leif continues, the polar opposite of Zoey’s energy, letting almost a lyrical vibe come to the monosyllabic word as he lets his eyes gaze over her. “I don’t mean to point out the obvious here, but, um… _it happened again.”_

“Well, no one ever said you weren’t astute.” She almost feels bad for the acidic undertone in her voice when he opens and closes his mouth like a sad guppy who’s just run headfirst into a jellyfish (and now she’s not gonna be able to get _that_ analogy out of her head) until she remembers just who she’s talking to. “It did, in fact, happen again.”

“I mean, should we… Should we talk about it?” He lets the question linger in the air for a second as she continues to focus on her hands and lull it over in her head. “Cause, I mean, I’m more than happy to _not_ talk about it and just… keep doing it, but - I mean… if we keep saying ‘never again’, I feel like it’s just gonna keep happening, y’know? If this… _very small_ sample group is anything to prove a theory, anyways.”

He finishes his point by averting his eyes, which she’s not sure really makes her _trust_ what he’s saying, but she’s gotta admit he’s got a point. A flimsy, measly point that could be blown away by a fairly weak gust of wind, but a point, nonetheless.

“Or we’ve just… made a mistake twice now and it’s a really easily avoidable mistake that we should just… be better at avoiding.” She turns her head to see him lightly nodding, though he’s chewing his lip in thought at the same time. “I think we should stick to our ‘never happening again’ plan. I liked that plan.”

“ _Right_ , but,” He’s opening his mouth to continue speaking, but in the action he’d absentmindedly rested his hand on her leg and _fuck_ , that effectively shut off all the brain function that she’d managed to work up for, a quick glance at the clock and _yup,_ three-thirty in the morning. She doesn’t process the words he’s saying until she’s cut him off with her lips against his as her hand falls immediately to his neck, her thumb rubbing across his jawline.

He looks absolutely dumbfounded when she pulls away, blue eyes wide in surprise as his lips remain parted until he has the common sense to pick up his jaw.

“That was…” She’s not quite sure what she expects him to say in response to the attack of a kiss. _That was surprising, intoxicating, disgusting, really fucking good._ “A very quick departure from _‘never again’._ ”

“So, maybe never again is too strong.” He nods at her words, tongue darting out to lick his lips and she can’t help but wonder if he’s still feeling her lips there or if they’re just dry. “ _But_ if we’re doing this, we need to have some ground rules. For one, it’s casual. No strings attached, easy peasy.”

He nods easily enough, seeming to agree to that term.

“And you shouldn’t keep sleeping over. It’s a little…” _Intimate._ “Suspicious.”

“Fair enough.”

“Anything to add?”

He seems to be in deep thought for a second, dragging his hand over the back of his neck before he turns back to her with a very matter-of-fact stance.

“You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”

The words in combination with the smug smile he says them with (and she’s absolutely not going to acknowledge the slight softness she can feel creeping up underneath) earn him a smack on his arm, though she also lets out a light laugh.

“That will _not_ be a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always comments give me 100000x more motivation to finish the story and give me validation that people really _want_ more
> 
> ty again for reading we're getting closer to the uuhhhh,,,,,, "good stuff" (and by that i mean. bad stuff. emotionally) i have planned


	4. what about you & i?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so. some notes:  
> \- this chapter there's a time jump of about three months so they've been sleeping together for A Little Bit  
> \- i was honestly. very lazy in figuring out the timeline of when this fic is set so i finally established with this chapter that its roughly a year after s1 canon and uh. if it being that vague takes you out of the story im. sorry?  
> \- i was also very lazy in the fact that setting it after s1 meant figuring out the job economy with joan filling in for danny michael davis for however long she's doing that but my personal theory is that zoey is gonna move up to fill joan's position and leif is gonna move up to fill zoey's so that's how i wrote this (ALSO if im right abt that being what happens in s2 its now in writing here and i'll feel really damn cool)

The first thing Joan notices when she comes back to check on how close _The Chirp_ is to being able to launch is that nothing has changed. Tobin is still managing to do absolutely nothing while producing exceptionally adequate work, Glenn is still managing to do everything wrong while doing approximately nothing, and Zoey and Leif are pulling a good bit more weight than their colleagues.

The second thing she notices is that _a lot_ has changed, namely in the two with the most weight on their shoulders.

She’s only been out of the elevators for a minute, enough time to survey what sits on the food bar (yogurt? _really?_ It’s better than oatmeal, she supposes, but not by much) and to be just a little bit offended that no one has noticed the acting CEO walking onto the floor. _And_ enough time to glance into her former office and see Leif leaning over Zoey’s back, one arm braced on the back of her chair and the other pointing to something on her laptop as they work together and _oh. Oh, no, this is awful._ And very _surprising_ , but mostly awful.

She knows that look. Unfortunately, she knows it _very well._ Leif is looking at Zoey with the most lovestruck, puppy dog eyes she’s ever seen as Zoey talks through whatever they’re working on with the kind of wit and precision that Joan knew would lend itself perfectly to the job she’d left to her. Hell, despite the twist in her gut that had accompanied it at first, she really can’t blame him for looking like that when Zoey looks so in her element and confident.

What she’s _not_ sure about is _why_ his _‘I would do anything for you’_ eyes are aimed at _Zoey._ She’s not even ashamed that her first instinct is to meddle.

* * *

All of Zoey’s attention is drawn to Joan as soon as she makes her presence clear in the doorway. Well, all but a _tiny, little bit_ of it that chooses to focus on how Leif jerks away from her as soon as he notices Joan, returning to his usual posture, tall and awkward and a little bit unsure of where to put his arms. Regardless of Leif’s seeming inability to remain subtle (and she really shouldn’t toot her own horn here because she’s not exactly the queen of that herself), she’s ecstatic to see _acting CEO Joan Bennett_ walking into the office and she stands up immediately, rounding the edge of the desk to face her. _Would it be weird to hug her?_ It would definitely be weird to hug her. She’s gonna hug her.

She very quickly decides that hugging her was the right idea when Joan laughs gently in her ear and hugs back, rubbing her back. She pulls away with a warm smile.

“Well, hello to you, too.” She teases, before glancing over where Leif still stands awkwardly behind her desk; at least he’s smiling politely despite the awkwardness radiating off of him.

“What?” Zoey can’t help the blush that colors her cheeks, even though she knows Joan can’t _know_ anything. She thinks it’ll be easier to deflect, anyways. “I just _missed_ you. We all do, actually, it’s not the same without you yelling at us.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Joan laughs and Zoey doesn’t actually think she’s seen Joan this _happy_ and… _laid back?_ Despite the near constant stress that Zoey would _assume_ would be crushing, she seems to be thriving under it and it fills Zoey’s heart with a warmth that she doesn’t have time to really think about as she notices Joan’s eyes keep flitting to Leif. “Hey, _buddy._ Can I talk to Zoey alone for a second?”

Leif seems to finally come to himself when Joan actually addresses him and he shakes his head (he only _kind of_ looks like an idiot, which for him is _progress_ ) as he stammers out a ‘yeah, of course’ and very quickly heads past Joan with a curt nod.

Zoey rounds the desk again, sitting back down in her chair and aiming a slight smile at Joan.

“Did you really need to talk to me or did you just want him to leave?” She asks as Joan takes a seat in front of her with an unreadable expression.

“I was just wondering when you started sleeping with Leif.”

_Well._ She was not expecting _that._ The fact that she _picked up on it_ at all is enough, but she had seen them for maybe a total of _two minutes._ Maybe they are _a lot_ less subtle than Zoey’s been giving them credit for in her head. _Fuck._

“I’m sorry, what?” She finally responds with a shocked shake of her head and a breathy laugh that she hopes is believable enough as an ‘ _I’m so shocked you would say that’_ and not an ‘ _I’m so shocked you picked up on that’._

“You _are_ sleeping with him, right? Because if not, those heart eyes he was making are a _lot_ more pathetic.” She says, casually. _Way_ too casually for what they’re talking about.

“I’m - I mean,” Zoey manages to sputter out, shaking her head and avoiding Joan’s intense gaze; she notes that it’s not even a questioning gaze. It’s a _damning_ gaze. She _knows_ and there’s absolutely no way she’s gonna believe her if she tries to lie about it. Luckily for her, Zoey is _very_ good at digging herself further into the ground. Just go ahead and hand her the shovel. “I’m - I’m shocked. _Appalled_ that you would even… I don’t know how you _could_ even - how do I know _you’re_ not sleeping with him again? Quite frankly, I think it’s inappropriate.”

Joan’s expression is doubtful, _at best._

“Okay, now that you’ve made things your special brand of weird, can we just address the fact that he’s in love with you?”

_What?_ Okay. _Alright._ Take a second to _think._ She might be _right_ that they’re sleeping together, but Zoey can at least blame the adamant denial on this one on the fact that it is just patently _false. Yes,_ they’re banging and _yes,_ they threw the ‘no sleeping over’ rule out of the window very shortly after establishing it and _yes_ , he’d bought a toothbrush to keep at her apartment but that’s just _practical._ There is not a world where Leif Donnelly is _in love with her._ At least not one where Joan can see it after seeing them together for less time than it takes to hear a heartsong. (And, on that note, she’s sure she would’ve heard at least one damning heartsong if Joan was in any way right. _So… Checkmate._ )

“What, uh - what would make you say that? What, in any possible world, would make you _think_ that?” Zoey knows she sounds defensive and she knows that doesn’t help her case _at all,_ but nothing in the world could take the edge off of her voice right now because that edge is coming directly from how _on edge_ she’s felt since hearing Joan echo the horrible sentiment she’d said to _her_ a little over a year prior.

Joan is looking at her like she’s just said that Paris isn’t a real city before she shakes her head and lets out a laugh.

“I actually,” She starts and Zoey has to force herself to actually listen and tone down the internal panic. “I think I’m starting to get how you knew he was in love with _me,_ he really makes _no_ effort to hide it, does he?”

“Right.” Zoey has to force herself to say _something_ , no matter how utterly unintelligent it sounds. “ _Well,_ I don’t know how you’re getting that because he’s... so _not_ in love with me. This is _not_ the same situation.”

“ _Zoey._ Normally, I’d be a little endeared by your naivete but… _come on._ I didn’t see it with our… _thing_ because I was in an ignorant bliss of casualty. But,” She looks like a lightbulb has lit up behind her eyes and Zoey feels _scared._ “I’d bet anything that if we look through that glass right now, he’ll be looking at you.”

Her eyes hold Joan’s in a suspicious challenge for a second before she turns her head and… _well, yeah._ He _is_ staring at her. That is, until he realizes she’s looking right at him with eyebrows knotted in confusion and his head snaps back to listening to whatever Tobin is droning on about, faux-casualty dripping off of him.

Okay, so Joan might have a point. A stupid, _stupid_ point that she’d rather die than actually acknowledge, but a _point_ nonetheless.

* * *

Leif can’t help the nervous pit in his stomach as he tries to work at his desk. _Logically_ , he knows that it’s very unlikely that they’re talking about _him and Zoey_ or _him_ or anything in the _Leif subfield_ , but he also knows that when Joan had walked into the glass doorway, he’d been… well, he’d been pretty far into his own head. If he’s being honest with himself (which he doesn’t really do often), he was lost in thoughts of wishing he could be closer to Zoey at that exact moment, brought on by the fact that he was getting whiffs of her shampoo that brought his brain back to less than twelve hours earlier when he had been cuddled against her back with that exact smell as she expertly talked through her own work with him. He didn’t even notice that Joan was there until she made it very audibly known, at which point the panic of ‘ _oh, crap, stop staring at Zoey like she’s the only thing you’ve ever seen, you creep’_ kicked in.

And then Joan essentially kicked him out and they’ve been talking for upwards of thirty minutes now and he can only hope they’re playing catch-up on how their families are doing and how close _The Chirp_ is to being an actual product and that Joan _hadn’t_ picked up on the awkward energy Leif knows was radiating off of him.

His luck seems to have run out when he’s torn out of his daze of staring at the unmoving computer screen to hear Joan breeze by him with an unsubtle petition of “Leif, a word?” that brings more anxiety to his stomach than it has any right to. _Why does she want to talk to_ him? She’s already in the conference room by the time he actually processes it and he has to shake his head to clear the anxious thoughts that creep up. _She probably just wants to talk about The Chirp. Chill out, Mr. Guilt Complex._

He’s still fairly scared of Joan, though, all things considered, so he makes haste to make it into the conference room without seeming _too_ hesitant.

“What’s up?” He tries to seem casual, but the crack around the edges of his voice definitely betrays him.

“So,” She starts and she seems a lot… _softer_ than he would expect from Joan, especially Joan about to talk about work and _oh. Oh, no, that means -_ “You’re sleeping with Zoey.”

He finds himself, not for the first time, wishing that his face didn’t give away absolutely everything he’s feeling; most notably, shock and fear and maybe a little bit of guilt.

“Wh -” He starts, before letting out a breath and licking his lips (have his lips been chapped this long or is this a weird anxiety thing? He’s not entirely sure.), desperately trying to calm the panic that’s pushing up from his chest into his throat, making it seem impossible to actually speak. “Uh, I wouldn’t - well, I wouldn’t say it that bluntly.”

“But you are?”

“Yes.” He swears to god his voice _squeaks,_ as hard as it is to get the word up through his throat. “But it’s not - I mean it’s -”

“I swear to god if you’re about to try to say that it’s casual, I’ll fire both of you.” Joan threatens and he’s only half sure that she’s speaking hyperbolically. He _really hopes_ she’s speaking hyperbolically.

“I -” Leif starts to try to deny it, but he loses the energy to fight before he’s even started. Besides, it’s _Joan._ If anyone’s gonna _get_ how he’s feeling right now, let alone how Zoey would feel if _she_ knew how he’s feeling right now, it would be _her._ He lets himself sink down into one of the chairs. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

“I think you need to give yourself a little more _participation credit_ here.” Joan follows his example, sitting down a lot less _pathetically._

“I just -” Once he starts talking, he knows it’s gonna start pouring out. He feels like maybe he should apologize for the patented Donnelly word vomit that’s about to come at her. “I keep thinking I can do _casual_ and I _can’t._ It’s not… it’s not me. And with you, it was _different,_ I mean -” What _does_ he mean? It was different because he thought he was _using_ her? It was different because, even with the emotionally crushing week following breaking it off, he was able to bounce back? Does he think he’ll _be_ able to bounce back if Zoey ever decides she’s done with their _‘fun’?_ “I mean it was just _different._ This feels…”

“Real?”

_Shit._ How did she do that? Since when can Joan actually read him like that?

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter, I mean, she’s…” _Never gonna feel the same._ “She’s _Zoey,_ it’s not… It’s not like there’s a chance in hell I’m gonna tell _her_ any of this. She’d kick me out before I could even get past the first word.”

Joan glances through the glass walls, across the bullpens and into Zoey’s office where she’d just been and Leif is _very_ suspicious of the look in her eyes.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading as always comments are my lifeblood, i literally re-read them and re-read them and re-read them to get motivation to write more, they help so so so so so much


	5. played a game you knew i'd lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im. not sorry 
> 
> also the heartsong in this song is delicate by taylor swift, no i do not take constructive criticism on how much taylor swift is in this fic

Zoey very pointedly ignores the point that Joan _tried_ to make. And she’s pretty happy to ignore it, actually, because if she acknowledges it, then she’s pretty sure that _morally_ she has to end things with Leif and she really _doesn’t_ wanna do that, which is another problem in its own right.

It’s not even just that the sex is good (though, it _is,_ undeniably), it’s just that she’s gotten _used_ to having him around. She would have to be seriously provoked to actually _say_ it, but she’s started to _like_ having him around and waking up in his arms and watching him fumble with her coffeemaker with mussed up hair and a sleepy grin when she teases him. And maybe it’s a bit of a stretch to keep calling this a _casual thing_ when he’s wearing a pair of pyjamas that he’s started keeping at her place and she knows for a fact that her entire bottom drawer is filled with cardigans and chinos that he only complains about not being able to hang up sometimes. But, again, she’d really like to plead _practicality._ It just doesn’t make sense for him to go home and change in the morning when they fall asleep in each other’s arms (which, again doesn’t really fit their casual label, but Zoey would like to not think about it too hard and just enjoy it, so buzz off).

She’s pretty happy to keep pretending like everything’s fine and keep waking up to his soft breathing and soft smiles and soft _everything_. Today is one of the mornings that she wakes up before him (which is pretty rare, actually, as she’s found out he wakes up _ridiculously_ early) and she takes a second to really take him in as he lays flat on his back and she pushes herself up off of his bare chest. He shifts with the movement and groans in his sleep, but doesn’t wake up, even as she rubs her thumb softly against his collar bone.

He really _is_ handsome, she notes. And sweeter than she would’ve ever expected pre-hooking up. She almost can’t remember what it felt like to hate him so adamantly, every cocky smile and roll of his eyes pushed to the back of her head with each dorky grin and sleepy good morning kiss (that were sometimes a gateway into _more_ than a good morning kiss, but sometimes it was just that; a sweet moment between the two of them that was _just_ a sweet moment and she doesn’t really know what to do with that).

Her hand drifts from his collarbone up to the scar in his eyebrow, thumb brushing over it softly before swiftly pulling away when sleepy blue eyes start to blink up at her, accompanied by a soft smile and a drowsy noise from the back of his throat.

“Mhm, good mornin’ _darling,_ ” He drawls out, the pet name almost _teasing_ (she _hopes_ it’s teasing, anyways, because pet names are a _whole_ ‘nother level) and she swears he has the slightest hint of an accent (she remembers _now_ that he’d casually mentioned growing up in Tennessee at some point) that makes her stomach swirl in a way that she really doesn’t wanna examine for too long.

Instead of examining that feeling _or_ responding to him, she presses a kiss to his lips and smiles into it when he responds by kissing back without hesitation and resting his hand lazily against her cheek, letting his thumb rub idly for a second.

What she doesn’t expect when she pulls away is for him to hold eye contact with her and start _singing_ immediately. _Shit._

_This ain't for the best, my reputation's never been worse, so  
_ _You must like me for me_

He holds eye contact as he sings the first line and she feels like she’s frozen in place as she mutters a barely audible “uh-oh”, barely even processing the words he’s singing as she pushes down the rush of panic that the sudden heartsong has brought up (the fact that he follows the last word with a breathy smile _doesn’t_ help the matter, either).

_We can't make any promises now, can we, babe?  
_ _But you can make me a drink_

He sits up now, pushing her with him without breaking eye contact, his eyebrow cocked as she sits back on her knees and forces herself to take a deep breath when he finally breaks eye contact.

_Dive bar on the East Side, where you at?  
_ _Phone lights up my nightstand in the black,  
_ _“Come here, you can meet me in the back”_

He swings his legs over the side of the bed with a quick gesture to where his phone sits on her own nightstand and she’s starting to get that this song _must be_ about them and their relationship (and there was only a tiny part of her that was hoping it could somehow be about _another_ super personal issue). _Phone lighting up? Secretive meetings?_ Unless he’s got another girl calling him at midnight (and the thought of that being an actual possibility only scares her a little) and pleading for him to come over, this one’s about them _big time_.

_Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you  
_ _Oh damn, never seen that color blue  
_ _Just think of the fun things we could do  
_ _'Cause I like you_

He turns back inward from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and touches her leg when he sings about her _jeans_ , his eyes travelling up her body to make eye contact again as he moves his hand to cup her cheek, talking about the color blue. _Is he talking about her eyes? He’s looking pretty deep into her eyes._ She can feel her heart beating faster at the intensity in his gaze as it drops to her lips and his hand moves to caress the back of her neck.

_This ain't for the best, my reputation's never been worse, so  
_ _You must like me for me_

He drops his hand and turns away, launching himself off of the bed and turning around halfway through to land against the wall, hand against his chest, ending the line with that damn breathy smile again, his eyes finding hers again immediately and there’s something so _earnest_ and honest underneath his gaze that makes her heart ache.

_We can't make any promises now, can we, babe?  
_ _But you can make me a drink_

He hops onto her dresser with practiced ease and, even though she _knows_ this isn’t actually happening _in reality,_ she’s suddenly very concerned about the lamp that shakes when he does and it’s definitely _not_ so she doesn’t have to think about how the word ‘babe’ tumbling from his lips makes her feel.

_Is it cool that I said all that?  
_ _Is it chill that you're in my head?  
_ _'Cause I know that it's delicate_

He’s not looking at her, instead staring at her open door in front of him with an unreadable expression as his legs dangle off of the dresser, hands laced tightly together in his lap. _In his head?_ Like he’s _thinking about her when they’re not together or something?_ Like this _means something to him?_ Crap.

_Is it cool that I said all that  
_ _Is it too soon to do this yet?  
_ _'Cause I know that it's delicate_

Now he glances at her and he looks _vulnerable._ What does he mean _‘do this’?_ Like… a _relationship?_ She’s doing some pretty serious mental gymnastics here and she doesn’t really like the feeling it’s leaving her with as he shakes his head and looks back down at his hands in his lap. _Damn right, it’s ‘delicate’._

_Isn't it, isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it delicate?_

As he repeats the phrase, he slides off the side of the dresser and walks around to the other side of her bed where she’s now facing away from him, still sitting on her knees on the bed. He’s not necessarily _dancing,_ but he _is_ moving in time with the music as he comes up behind her and she glances over her shoulder.

_Third floor on the West Side, me and you  
_ _Handsome, you're a mansion with a view  
_ _Do the girls back home touch you like I do?_

Her breath catches when his hands rest on her shoulders, before his right one slides down her arm, landing on the top of her thigh, right before her hip bone and he has _no right_ to sound _that_ soft and _that_ attractive and _wanting_ at the same time while she can feel his breath ghosting over the side of her neck. But at least this is still in the general area of her wheelhouse. She can _do_ lust and attraction, as long as he’s not singing about his _feelings_ anymore.

_Long night, with your hands up in my hair  
_ _Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs  
_ _Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share, 'cause I like you_

He moves his hands to brace himself on the bed, jumping up and swinging his legs around so he’s sitting next to her now, one knee propped up with his elbow resting on it as he runs a hand through his hair. He’s singing directly at her again, movements no longer seeming choreographed, but _natural,_ the vulnerability in his eyes returning. _Cause I like you._ So, he likes her. That’s not _love._ That’s not serious, couldn’t she still ignore it and enjoy a good thing?

_Sometimes I wonder when you sleep, are you ever dreaming of me?_

She hears the music slow down as he grabs her arm lightly and drags them both back so they’re laying down again, though as she turns her head to watch him, he poses the question to the ceiling rather than her. _Is that implying that he dreams about her? _This is so much worse than she thought it was.

_Sometimes when I look into your eyes, I pretend you're mine, all the damn time_

His head turns now, locking eyes with her as he sings about doing the same, gaze wistful and longing and god, she can’t handle that. Any ambiguity in the song is lost with that. _He wants something real._ (If there’s a part of her that wants to _give him_ something real, it’s a part that she squashes down very fast.) She _can’t_ give him something real. That is so the polar opposite of their relationship.

_'Cause I like you_

With a light tug on her arm and a tender smile as the music fades with his warm voice, they’re returned to where they were when the song started and he’s staring up at her with a soft half-asleep smile and bedhead and it feels _way too domestic_ to be happening immediately after _that_ revelation.

_Shit._

“I’ve gotta go to work.” She blurts out, effectively shutting down the moment it’s clear they were in the middle of as Leif knits his eyebrows together in confusion and her eye catches on the scar again, which she has to tear her gaze away from. She pushes herself out of the bed and starts throwing clothes on before she can think about what matches or how her hair looks or brushing her teeth, her only focus being on getting away from his lovestruck eyes and dumb sleepy accent.

“Zoey, it’s -” He sits up as he starts to talk, pushing a palm into his eye, very clearly still waking up and only half processing what’s happening before he glances at the clock. “It’s six in the morning, you don’t have to -”

“I have, um,” She swiftly sprays perfume from her dresser and shakes her head. “I have errands. To run. A lot of them.”

She steps out of her room and grabs the spare key that hangs on a pegboard, tossing it through the doorway where it lands next to Leif on the bed.

“Lock the door when you leave.”

“Um,” She’s already gone by the time he starts to respond, unable to wipe the dumbfounded look from his face. “ _Okay?”_

* * *

He tries to talk to her when he comes into work, but she swiftly decides it’s much easier to fake being busy than to address the fact that she’d practically run out on him less than three hours ago. So, Leif sits in a hanging chair with a pit of anxiety in his stomach for the rest of the day, save getting lunch with Tobin, and Zoey makes herself as busy as possible to avoid looking like she’s _available_ for any damning interrogation sessions about why her attitude had flipped so suddenly. She knows it’s suspicious and she _knows_ it’s shitty to ignore him, especially being fully aware of _how he feels_ , but shouldn’t her feelings matter, too? Because _she_ feels pretty damn _anxious_ and she’d like to avoid the conversation she knows she has to have for as long as she possibly can.

So… _she does._

She checks up on the team, brushes over Leif’s progress and when he asks her if she needs any help (and he really _does not_ have to sound so genuine and desperate to reach out and if he could get that edge of concern out of the bottom of his voice, that’d be great, _thank you_ ), she says a very swift no and upon realizing that she actually _does,_ she asks Glenn instead, which is a pretty stellar low for her (and she can _tell_ that he notices and that it hurts him and she tries _really hard_ not to care when glossy eyes meet hers from where she sits in the conference room and she wishes that what was clearly displayed there was anger or _hurt,_ at least, but he still just looks _worried_ and she can’t decipher that).

So she works with Glenn until everyone but Leif has left and she _tries_ to outwait him, but stupid Glenn very anxiously says he has a date and asks if he can leave and she’s not gonna be _that_ boss, especially for such absolutely selfish reasons.

She can’t pack up to leave fast enough because Glenn is out of there before she can blink her eyes and she’s shoving her tablet into her bag when Leif takes the chance to come up and lean in the doorway.

“Can I… _talk to you?”_

_And there it is_. She was really hoping to push this to another day, no matter the cost of ignoring him.

“Uh, yeah, what’s up?” She responds, still facing the conference table and pointedly _not_ looking at him and the faux-casualty she tries to put on wouldn’t be good enough to fool a toddler.

“I just, um, I wasn’t sure if I could. Considering you _haven’t_ talked to me… _all day.”_ He raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms over his chest, punctuating it with a heavy swallow and knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. She thanks whatever God there might be that he lets a little bitterness seep into his voice. She can _deal_ with bitterness. “Did I… _do something?_ Because if I did, I mean, I’m sorr - _”_

“No,” She interjects, shaking her head and setting her bag down on the table, giving up on the prospect of escaping. “No, you… _you_ didn’t do anything. I just,” She turns around, steeling herself to look in his damning blue eyes and trying not to think about those same eyes gazing with such care just this morning. “I don’t think I can keep doing this. _Us._ Whatever we are.”

“What?” He drops his arms with the inquiry and _god,_ why can’t he just be angry and resentful? Why does he have to look so shocked and devastated just from that? (She knows _why._ It’s the same reason she wanted to _avoid_ this conversation.)

“I think…” She has to take a deep breath to brace herself, trying to choose her words carefully. “I think you’re in this a lot deeper than I am and I don’t… want you to get hurt.”

It’s not technically a lie. She _doesn’t_ want him to get hurt. The words left unsaid are that she doesn’t really wanna get hurt, either, and she’s not sure that _wanting something more_ with Leif, of all people, is the road to achieving that goal.

“Can’t that be _my_ choice?” He doesn’t _deny_ it, only zeroes in intense eyes on her own staring back at him. This may be the first _truly_ honest thing about him. “I mean, don’t I get a say in that?”

“ _Leif,”_

“No, I mean, so what if I love you? I didn’t think you felt the same when we started this, why does this change anything now?”

_So what if I love you. The L word. Fuck._

“Leif, you don’t love me.” She states, shaking her head and hoping her face isn’t betraying her on the whirlwind of emotions that are sweeping up her heart. “You’re… you may be _infatuated_ , but you don’t - you couldn’t -”

“I think I know how I _feel_ , Zoey.” He snaps and _finally,_ he doesn’t look so pathetic and sad. She can deal with anger. She can deal with snapping and indignancy. But her brain catches up with her too soon. He’d said he knew she didn’t feel the same _when they’d started this…_ Which means…

“What do you mean ‘ _when we started this’?_ Is that how long you’ve felt this way?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” He rolls his eyes and she tries to focus on _that_ and not how wet they are and how his posture sags and softens as soon as he’s done it, almost as if that’s all he needed to get his frustration out. It would be so much easier if he would just _yell it._ “Honestly? I had a crush on you. For a long time and it was embarrassing and boyish and it sucked, and then… everything with the promotion and the peer reviews happened, and I pretty much gave up. I figured any chance of you ever _liking_ me, let alone… Uh, but then when you.... When we, um… I just - I was willing to be nothing to you, if it meant you could be _something_ to me, y’know?” There’s a beat as she processes just what he’s saying and her heart swells and then cracks in two. _Why does he have to make this harder than it already is?_ “I… I still am.”

“I think this would be a lot easier if you went back to your ‘giving up’ plan.” Her voice sounds foreign to her own ears, cracked around the edges and full of every emotion she doesn't want to show.

“I’m not very _good_ at giving up, Zoey.”

“Leif,” She really wishes her voice hadn’t cracked there. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s…” She looks at the floor and then back up at him and she hopes her small smile is comforting (rather than _pitiful_ ). “I mean, it’s not fair to _you._ I’m… _never_ gonna feel the same, you don’t deserve that.”

“Zoey, I -”

“I’m sorry,” She cuts him off as she picks up her bag, giving him one last apologetic look and hoping she won’t have to see him cry like his eyes are suggesting he might before barrelling past him and blinking the tears out of her own eyes. She is _not_ going to cry over this. Not over _him._ Especially when it’s _her_ decision.

He’s left standing in the doorway, staring blankly at the glass table as tears collect in his eyes and he can’t help the horrible feeling of deja vu that overtakes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay full disclosure: one of those lines in that last scene is literally the reason i wrote this fic and i'm really excited for feedback on this chapter so uuhhh _please_ leave comments i'll owe you my firstborn


	6. did i close my fist around something delicate; did i shatter you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. im sorry? this got a lot more bittersweet than i expected it to
> 
> the heartsong in this one is "love, you didn't do right by me" by rosemary clooney

The next week and a half feels like a year. Or two years, maybe even three.

He feels _numb,_ more than anything. Everything he does feels like he’s going through the motions, just trying to ignore the pit in his stomach or the way his chest tightens when Zoey avoids interacting with him _at all_ at work.

A couple of times he thinks about faking a problem with his code or finding questions to be had about what he’s working on, just to get her to _acknowledge_ him, to get the _chance_ for her to smile at him again or, hell, he’d take her frustration at this point. Anything is better than the cold shoulder. But he’s smart enough to know that Zoey would see right through that. _She’s_ smarter than that.

He doesn’t actually remember coming home from work after Zoey left him standing in the conference room, hot tears brimming in his eyes. He vaguely remembers the bike ride and the wind biting at his face, irritating the skin where he had forcefully wiped tears away, forcing him to at least feel _something_. He remembers struggling to get his key into the lock and he remembers Tobin opening the door with the most concerned look he thinks he’s ever seen him have, save the one he’d donned when Leif had been in the exact same position a year prior. He remembers breaking, a choked sob coming out of his throat before he even had the time to process what it was. He only vaguely remembers Tobin closing the door behind him, taking an arm around his shoulders and guiding him to the couch, sitting down with him wordlessly and pulling him close against his chest, letting him soak what Leif knows is his favorite hoodie with tears, emotions coursing through his body that he didn’t have the energy or motivation to decipher. He didn’t ask questions or prod him for information on what the hell was up; he’s not sure if Tobin knows how much that meant to him. He thinks (he _hopes_ ) he does, considering Tobin had had to remind him of that part later.

He remembers, after about an hour, when he’d finally stopped crying and could at least get actual words out of his throat, Tobin making a joke about doing shots to make him feel better and he remembers making that into a _serious suggestion._ He remembers actually doing the shots and not much after that until he woke up on the couch with a blanket thrown over him, a hell of a hangover, and his phone nowhere in sight.

When he finally found it (Tobin had thrown it into his room and locked the door), there were five outgoing texts to Zoey and one attempted call. He had suddenly remembered _why_ Tobin had thrown it into his room and locked the door.

* * *

Zoey just tried not to acknowledge it. Three weeks pass and, save for some very embarrassing crying sessions that no one but Mo would ever know about and a totally not-drunken encounter with a stray cat that may or may not reside in her apartment now, she handles it like a champ. Or… _her_ definition of a champ. _Shut up._ If she misses him, that’s not a feeling she needs to acknowledge.

For the most part, she just avoids him at work unless it’s absolutely necessary. He’s a more than capable coder and even more capable manager and it’s not like he relied on her for help _before_ they hooked up and made everything awkward.

What she can’t avoid, though, is Tobin; who actually doesn’t need help, either, but seems to be taking any opportunity to bother and annoy her, coming to her with simple questions and problems that any Intro to Coding student could solve in their sleep ( _and_ , even if they were legitimate questions, they were questions that should’ve been fielded through Leif first, so she can be pretty damn sure he’s just messing with her). Tobin is smarter than that and she _knows_ it.

She’s approaching his desk to have an inevitably uncomfortable conversation about respecting her time as his boss when Leif turns around to say something to Tobin at the same time, opening his mouth and then closing it when he sees her approaching behind him. How she’s managed to go this long without having to address the elephant in the room and have an actual conversation with him is a marvel, but now that he’s looking at her like a deer in the headlights, she’s not really sure what to say at all (compounded by the fact that he’s wearing _glasses_ ; she’s used to his yellow UV glasses, but these are like… _actual_ glasses with thin metal frames that highlight his cheekbones and make him look a little bit like the tootsie pop owl and she has _no right_ to be this endeared by it when she made the choice to end things).

“ _Hey,_ Leif,” She tries to sound casual, but the anxious edge in her voice betrays her, as always, as she awkwardly nods her head.

“Zoey.” He responds, his voice drawn tight and curt around her name like it’s hard for him to even say.

“I didn’t know you wore, like… _actual_ glasses.”

“I don’t. My eye is just, uh, really irritated, so I couldn’t…” She almost feels bad; she can tell pretty much exactly how little he wants to be talking about this with her. “Couldn’t wear contacts.”

“Oh.” _Oh? Try to sound more like an idiot, Zoey._ “They’re, um - They’re _nice_. They suit you.” _Way to go._

Despite her bumbling, he gives her a slight smile and she tries not to think about the fact that she’s _missed_ how he smiles with half of his mouth and how his eyes show everything he’s thinking.

After the awkwardness hangs in the air for a second, Leif shakes his head and turns back to his desk, seemingly forgetting whatever he was gonna say to Tobin. _Right, Tobin._

“Uh, anyways, Tobin - a word?” She gestures her head towards her office and he raises his eyebrows before getting up and following her through the doorway, wasting no time in plopping down in the chair opposite her desk.

“What’s up, Red?” He says coyly, his face pleading _‘look at me, I’m innocent’_.

“Tobin, I know you’re smart,” She starts, sitting down opposite him. “So, I’m cutting to the chase. Why do you keep asking me questions that you, or _anyone else out in that bullpen,_ could answer in your sleep?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs his shoulders, one hand fiddling with the string on his hoodie. “Why has my best friend been an emotional wreck for the past three weeks?”

 _Oh_. Oh, okay, so this is a weird revenge thing. Fucked up, but at least it’s an explanation.

“Oh, so he… _told you._ Okay.” She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. _Of course he would talk to Tobin about it._

“No, he…” Tobin shakes his head and looks uncharacteristically… _melancholic?_ “He doesn’t _know_ I know. Or at least he didn’t _tell_ me. I’m just… not an idiot. You guys were all buddy-buddy for a while, he came home crying, _really hard_ , by the way,” She hates the guilt that swirls in her stomach at that. “And now you’ll barely look at him here. I can fit the puzzle pieces together into a _pretty clear_ picture, Z.”

“So, let me get this straight,” She lets out a huff of a laugh, almost in disbelief. “You’re… terrorizing me with annoyingly simple questions because I broke up with Leif. _Cool._ ”

“No,” Tobin rolls his eyes and Zoey tries not to roll her own. It would be _very_ unprofessional to roll her eyes, too. Not that _anything_ about this conversation is professional. “I’m terrorizing you because it seems like you don’t even _care._ You can’t just act like nothing happened. _Shit happened._ And if shit happened for as long as I’m pretty sure it did, then _said shit_ meant a lot to him. I mean, _dude,_ I’m not saying you have to love him back or anything, but you could acknowledge his existence, like, _at all.”_

Her face must’ve been betraying her again, because after he spits out the last of his admonishment, his face softens and he’s looking at her quizzically (and she can feel the wetness in her own eyes as she draws her jaw tight to stop them from falling, but she’s not gonna acknowledge that, if he doesn’t).

“I _do_ care.” Her voice is rough with unshed tears, as if the conversation itself wasn’t embarrassing enough. “You have… _no idea_ how much I care. I just - this is just how it has to be, Tobin. You’ve gotta understand that.”

“I don’t know if I do.” His eyes are at least more understanding now, though he shakes his head as he says it. “He’s just -” He pauses, seeming to struggle for the right way to say whatever he’s about to say. “He’s _delicate,_ y’know?”

 _Fuck._ Did it have to be _that_ word?

“Right,” She looks down at her desk to avoid his eyes, chewing on her bottom lip in thought for a second. “I think you should get back to work.”

“Aight,” He responds, all the levity that would usually be in the way he says that gone from the word as he stands up. He stops in the doorway, turning around. “I don’t, um - I don’t think I’m gonna have any more questions. By the way.”

Despite herself, she smiles at the concession. It’s weirdly sweet, in a roundabout way.

* * *

It’s when she’s on her way back from the bathroom that she hears a swelling orchestra from the meditation room and she has to convince herself not to actively run away from it when she hears Leif’s voice crooning from inside.

_Love, you didn't do right by me_

She opens the door and pokes her head in to see Leif laid out on the platform with his feet resting on the floor and his hands folded behind his head, singing up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression ( _or,_ it could just be that she doesn’t _want_ to read the expression, because then she’d have to acknowledge how utterly devastated he still looks even after three weeks).

_You planned a romance that just hadn't a chance and I'm through_

In contrast to other songs she’s heard him sing, he’s not moving at all, just singing up at the ceiling, honing in on the melancholic vibe that’s overtaking the whole room as she silently steps into the room and closes the door behind her.

_Love you didn't do right by me_

_I'm back on the shelf and I'm blaming myself_

_But it's you_

He sits up now, at the end of the verse, resting his elbow on his knees and, subsequently, his cheek on an open palm, staring at one of the candles across the room, still not really moving at all.

_My one love affair didn't get anywhere from the start_

_To send me a Joe who had winter and snow in his heart, wasn't smart_

_Love, you didn't do right by me_

_As they say in the song … you done me wrong_

_Yes, Mr. Love, you done me wrong_

As he sings out the last note to the empty room, it echoes and rebounds and it feels like it’s haunting her, sending chills down her spine until he turns his head and raises his eyebrows.

“When did you get here?” He knits his eyebrows in confusion (a look she’s growing used to seeing on his face, nowadays), as he looks up at her with shiny blue eyes.

“Um,” She’s still reeling a little bit from the song and how _sad_ he’d sounded. Maybe Tobin had a point. Ignoring him wasn’t doing anyone any favors and it’s not like it would be a travesty to acknowledge that she’d come to like having him around as a _friend,_ even if she didn’t trust them to be anything more. “Just a second ago. You were…”

“Out of it.” He finishes her sentence effortlessly, pointing his gaze back to the candle where he’d seemingly been zoned out on in reality while he was singing.

“Do you hide out in here a lot?” There’s a genuine curiosity in her voice as she sits down next to him. To her, this is an olive branch. She’s timidly handing it over, hoping against all hopes that he’ll grab it, too, rather than throw it to the ground.

“Kind of?” He answers, stretching his arms over his knees and lacing his hands together. “I mean, usually, I at least try to actually _meditate. Y’know,_ in the meditation room.” A huff of a laugh presses through her lips and it makes her heart swell when that makes him smile. “I don’t know, I’m just… thinking too much today.”

Well, she knows _that_ all too well.

“Anything in particular?” It feels like his fingers are grasping the olive branch, but she’s not quite sure, yet, if that’s to accept it or to throw it as far away from him as he can.

“I think you know the answer to that.” He swallows nervously and she can’t help that her eyes catch on his Adam’s apple and then his lips as he finally looks over at her again. In an extraordinary moment of weakness (she’s not sure if it’s the look in his eyes or the way his glasses make him look both older and younger at the same time or that she just _misses him_ and she’s finally letting herself acknowledge it for real), she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his lips, her hand hovering over his tie, unsure of whether he’ll pull away first or push her away, but he doesn’t do either. Instead, he melts into it, a small whimper coming from the back of his throat that prompts her to pull away with panic in her eyes and an apology lost on her lips. “That’s… That’s just _not fair._ ”

She can see the tears in his eyes again as she chews on the inside of her cheek, trying to think of absolutely anything she could say to justify why she’d just done that.

All she can think of is a muttered ‘sorry’, her own eyes suddenly seeing what Leif saw so interesting in the candles on the other side of the room as the silence hangs above them, waiting to drop.

“Leif,” She starts, turning to him when the silence started to feel too suffocating, too _much._ “I don’t want this. This avoiding each other, you ignoring me.”

“I’m sorry, _I’m_ ignoring _you?_ That is - that’s rich.” He sounds like he wants to be bitter, angry even, but he just sounds _tired_ and he still won’t look at her.

“ _Leif.”_

“ _What?_

“I don’t -” She starts again, but stops to take her hand and turn his head toward her, which she immediately regrets; it feels too intimate. And his eyes are too vulnerable, searching hers for anything in return. She steels herself. “I know it’s awkward, but despite everything else… I mean I - I _like_ being your _friend._ Even if we’re not… _with each other_ anymore, which is _for the best,_ I don’t wanna just ignore everything we learned. About us, about each other.”

He actually scoffs at that, tearing his gaze away from hers as the softness (and was that _hope?_ ) falls from his eyes.

“I’m sorry, you don’t - you don’t get to pick and choose the parts of a relationship you wanna have.”

“Why _not?_ ”

“Because it’s _selfish._ And - and it hurts and it _sucks,_ so I’m sorry, but... you wanted to end this, we’re _ending this._ All of it. We’ll go back to snide comments and silently hating each other, because I can’t…” He stops, finally letting himself actually look at her without prompting, wide blue eyes taking in everything he sees. The earnestness in her eyes combined with what looks like actual hurt is almost enough to crumble his resolve, to cave and just say _‘I’ll be whatever you want me to be to you’._ But then he remembers how he felt standing alone in the conference room and every time he’d lied through his teeth that he was okay with casual, that he would never want something more, every time she’d kiss him good morning and he’d have to feel his heart flutter, knowing that it meant nothing to her. He can’t do that again. “I just can’t.”

“I…” She’s not actually sure what she’s gonna say. She could beg him again for a friendship that she hadn’t even allowed herself to _want_ an hour prior, but it’s painfully obvious that wouldn’t get her anywhere. “I didn’t hate you, Leif.”

“That’s great, but, um…” He shakes his head as he looks at his intertwined hands, still resting over his knees. “It’s not really enough.”

She doesn’t have a chance to respond before he’s standing up and saluting two fingers from his forehead in a sharp movement and slipping out of the room without another word (and it would be cute and dorky if it wasn’t so _sad). Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always comments are my lifeblood!! i got,,, a lot last time that were just "why" or "ouch" and i gotta say. mood (this hurts me as much as it hurts you guys kjdfgkdjg)


	7. it's just the way that you needed things to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so um. this chapter is long as hell. sorry yall but also im not sorry at all

Zoey has never hated Joan. Even when she was difficult and scary to work with as a boss, she at least had an iota of respect and understanding. Zoey thinks she _might_ hate Joan right now, as she sits in her former office, informing her that she’s arranged for her and Leif to go to an overnight tech conference together.

“I’m sorry, what?” She asks, just to be sure she’d heard correctly and isn’t having a _stroke._

“Stanford is having an innovation in tech conference this weekend. You and Leif are going. I didn’t really think that was confusing. I hope you don’t have any plans because it _is_ non-refundable.” Joan tilts her head, raising her eyebrows and Zoey feels suddenly like she’s under the height of scrutiny as she makes an attempt to calm the panic swirling around in her stomach and making her nauseous. “I thought you’d be excited about this, it’s free time together, suspicion free.”

“Right, it’s just -” She starts to plead, before realizing that she definitely _sounds_ like she’s pleading and she forces herself to sit up straighter, accentuating it with a clear of her throat. “We - um, _I_ broke things off a couple weeks ago, so it would be really awkward for us to go to that together.”

Joan doesn’t look nearly as surprised as she should that they’d broken up. Could she at least pretend to be surprised? For Zoey’s dignity?

“Right.” She’s giving Zoey a knowing look and the only problem is that Zoey doesn’t know what she _knows._ “Unfortunately, like I said, it’s non-refundable and they’re _very_ stingy about name tags and identity fraud there, so I can’t just send someone else. Not to mention the fact that you two are the best to go, regardless of any personal feelings. _Sorry.”_

She at least has the decency to sound genuinely sorry as she shrugs her shoulder with a ‘there’s nothing I can do’ grimace.

“Okay, well, at least it’s Stanford, that’s what, an hour drive? I can do an hour drive with Leif and then we don’t even have to see each other. We can go to different panels, different events. I mean, I doubt he wants to be around _me._ ”

“Well,” She doesn’t like the look on Joan’s face as she starts. “It’s an hour drive without traffic. And it’s a weekend and you’ll be heading down during rush hour _and…_ ” Oh, no. She doesn’t like the hesitancy here. “I mean, I figured you wouldn’t wanna be driving back and forth, so the company booked hotel rooms, _also_ non-refundable.”

The universe really can’t let her win, huh?

“I mean, they’re separate rooms, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t.” She sighs, making an effort to drain the tension from her shoulders. “I mean, _it does,_ but not much.”

“Zoey, I really wasn’t trying to -”

“No, I know,” She smiles at Joan, an understanding one. Joan was right; if they’d still been together, she would’ve revelled in an opportunity to spend a weekend going to tech panels, geeking out, and sleeping with Leif. And there was no way for Joan to have known, besides _observation_ , that it was over. “Thank you for… what you _thought_ you were doing. I’ll find a way to survive.

Joan’s smile in return is soft, standing up with her hands clasped in front of her. “You _will.”_

She starts to head towards the door before turning around and catching Zoey’s eye again.

“And, hey, if things get _unbearably_ awkward, I’m just a phone call away.”

“Thanks,” She smiles again, bowing her head to look back at her laptop screen. “Hang on,” She catches Joan again before she’s fully out of the door. “Can you tell Leif? I don’t… really wanna have that conversation right now.”

“Hm,” Her eyes linger on Zoey and she can tell that there’s a level of judgment and ‘ _well, that’s part of your job, Zoey’_ before her eyes soften and she nods her head with a ‘ _will do’_ before leaving the glass doorway and heading towards Leif’s desk. She taps his shoulder to indicate he should walk with her (a message he thankfully _receives,_ considering how vague it is), tearing him out of his focus on his work.

“What’s up?” He has to jog a little bit to catch up to her, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t nice to be struggling to keep up with Joan again. Despite everything else, he thinks it’s nice that she’s been spending as much time at SPRQpoint as she has, considering she must have a ton of other responsibilities and he’s only a little bit sure that it’s because she likes the _people_ there.

“You and Zoey are going to a conference this weekend, it’s at Stanford, it’s overnight, if you try and argue your way out of going, I’m firing you,” She finally stops at the coffee bar, pulling a mug from the stack. “Got that?”

“Um,” He feels like he’s reeling as he catches up to her fully, taking the time it takes her to pour her coffee to let his brain play catch-up. It’s when she starts walking again that he’s fully processed it and he jogs to get in front of her, walking backwards as he speaks. “I’m sorry, why? Why would you do that? What - What impulse deep in your heart would make you do that?”

“Well, one, you two are the best programmers here and you deserve to go,” He falls back in step next to her as she walks towards the elevators, not bothering to hide the flattered smile that earns before it falls to panic again. “Two, neither of you _told me_ you weren’t sleeping together anymore, so I really thought I was doing you a solid here. And it’s too late to turn back now, so… you’re going.”

She hits the button to bring the elevator up as he forces himself to take a deep breath.

“You can’t - you can’t cancel it? Send Tobin, send Sam, send - hell, send _Glenn,_ ” He knows he sounds as panicked as he feels, words coming out of his mouth faster than he can actually think about them as she steps into the elevator.

“No, I _can’t._ I think you should just count your blessings that I didn’t finagle the hotel into only having one room. You’ll live, Leif.”

The elevator doors close on a muttered _‘will I?’_.

* * *

The drive there is surprisingly pleasant. He insists on driving and, at first, she rolls her eyes because she’s pretty sure it’s just about him having control over the situation, before she realizes that it’s some weird anxiety thing and she relinquishes, thinking she owes him _that_ , at least.

The first couple minutes on the road are _awkward_ , to say the least, but once they leave San Francisco, he hands her his phone and asks her to press play on the podcast he has open in Spotify and she finds that it’s actually a podcast she’s _interested_ in, so the ride ends up being a comfortable, information-filled silence between the two of them, rather than the choking awkwardness that had been suffocating them before.

The anxious energy comes back in full force when they reach the Stanford campus, though, as he parks near the entrance to their hotel and they each grab their luggage from the back of the company car that they were sent in, walking wordlessly towards the hotel doors and _god_ , she really doesn’t know if she’s gonna be able to cope with this trip if he’s this silent and awkward the _whole_ time.

An aging, lanky man approaches them confidently and inquisitively as they enter the lobby and her eyes travel to Leif, expecting to find the same confusion that she’s sure is evident on her own face and instead finding that he hasn’t actually noticed the man until she hears him say, “Leif Donnelly, oh my god.”

“ _Professor Keller?_ ” Leif responds immediately when his eyes move towards the man, mouth agape and Zoey can’t help but to look between the two of them in search of answers to questions she can’t even think of.

“What brings you back to our neck of the woods?” The man sticks his hand out for Leif to shake and she’s never seen Leif greet someone so enthusiastically (the excitement almost seems _juvenile)_.

“I’m here for the tech conference. I’m actually a manager of engineering at SPRQpoint.” He seems almost braggadocious as he sticks his hands in his pockets, letting a proud smile rest on his face (and she guesses he has a _right_ to be braggadocious here, it’s not like SPRQpoint’s a _small_ tech company and she’s starting to gather that this must’ve been one of Leif’s professors at one point or another).

“SPRQpoint as in _SPRQ Watch_ SPRQpoint?” Keller asks, clearly impressed when Leif nods his head (and he only looks a little insufferably smug which is _progress_ ). “Well, look at you. I always knew you would go far. This one,” He speaks to Zoey now, pointing deliberately at Leif. “Worked so hard, I hardly believe he slept the entire time I taught him.”

“Oh, come on, I was just another coding student who wanted an A.” Leif looks down while he talks and _is he blushing?_ She’s gotta admit, he’s somehow even more handsome when he’s humble.

“Now, don’t be all humble when you won’t even introduce me to your friend,” The professor gives Leif a scathing look and it produces an actual chuckle out of him (she tries not to think about how _nice_ it is to hear him laugh again).

“Right, um, this is —“ He hesitates, the laughter falling from his tone as his eyes rest on Zoey for a moment too long and god, _why does he have to keep making things weird?_ “Zoey. My, uh, my _boss.”_

“Well, it’s good to meet you, Zoey. Listen, I’ve gotta get going, but you should let me know how long you’re gonna be in town,” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet which he pulls a business card out of and hands to Leif. “We should get drinks or dinner, catch up. Let me know!”

“Will do,” Leif smiles as the older man walks away with a slight wave.

“And that was?” Zoey’s voice lilts in curiosity, her eyebrows raised as they finally make their way towards the front desk.

“One of my old professors. I had him for a lot of my CS classes when I went here.”

“ _You_ went here?”

“You don’t have to act so surprised.” He laughs, but there’s a look of genuine offense and insecurity under it that makes her stomach twist.

“Wait, I wasn’t --” She’s cut off by the desk worker calling them up as the people in front of them take their key and start off to their room.

“Checking in?”

“Uh, yes, it should be under SPRQpoint, S-P-R-Q, two rooms.” She patiently taps her nails on the desk as the worker taps away at the keyboard, desperate to be doing anything other than acknowledging the man to her left, especially after she’d managed to wipe the levity from the air and make things awkward once again. They just have to check in and then they can go to their separate rooms and enjoy the weekend.

“Um, I’m only finding one room, sorry,” The worker’s eyebrows knit in confusion as she types and re-types into the search system before looking up. “Are you sure you had two rooms?”

“ _Pretty sure.”_ She responds, not bothering to hide the panic seeping into her voice. “I mean, not pretty sure, actually. _Definitely_ sure. One hundred percent, absolutely no doubt in my mind, _sure._ ”

She’s not gonna nervously look at Leif while she waits for the worker to check _one more time._ If she looks at Leif, then she has to acknowledge how anxious the thought of not only having to spend the weekend with him, but the thought of _sharing a room_ with him, makes her. She doesn’t even think she has the right to be this strung out about it, it’s not like _he_ broke _her_ heart, no matter how much she’s thought about missing him over the past month. There’s still a part of her that believes their thing was purely casual for her and she’s gonna hang on to that part of her as long as she possibly can. She looks at him, anyways, and lets the fact that he seems just as panicked as she is comfort her, at least.

“Nope, it’s still just… the one room for SPRQpoint. Normally, I’d be able to offer a second room somewhere else in the hotel, but we are quite literally booked to the brim from this conference. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, we can let you know if a room opens up.”

Zoey forces a deep breath into her lungs. _Okay. Okay, this is fine. Everything’s fine._

“That’s fine, thank you.” She takes the two keys from her with as polite a smile as she can muster before brushing past Leif and letting her face fall as he falls back into step beside her, heading towards the elevators.

She feels like she’s choking on the tension in the air as they wait for the elevator to come down and then step in together, both of their hands reaching to push the button for their floor at the same time. Their hands brush together and linger for a second before they both pull them back and nod in awkward silence as the doors close.

“Okay, this is only weird if we make it weird, right?” Zoey looks up at him, desperately begging for him to agree so she can get rid of the anxious pit in her stomach as the elevator moves up.

“ _Yeah._ ” He says, but it’s unconvincing, his voice not only cracked around the edges but right down the goddamn middle, too. “Nothing at all weird about, uh, ex not-quite-friends with benefits, one of which fell madly in love with the other and one of which didn’t seem to care _at all_ sharing a room for a weekend. Let me know if I missed any part of our relationship there, I had a lot of time being ignored to toss it over in my head.”

 _Okay._ So, it’s definitely weird. He steps out of the elevator in front of her, hands shoved deep in his pockets and tension carried heavily in his shoulders as he walks towards the room and waits for her to catch up once he realizes she has both of their keys. She hands him one with a small, apologetic smile and then unlocks the door, exhaling heavily when she looks in the room and sees only one bed in the middle of the room. _Because of course._

“Great,” Leif walks in behind her, setting his duffle bag down on top of the dresser. “‘Cause this wasn’t shitty enough.” He lets his gaze linger around the room before sighing and rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “I’ll just sleep on the floor, whatever, it’s two days.”

“Leif, I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor.” Zoey sets her suitcase down on the bed, giving it an affirmative pat (as more of a distraction and something to do with her hands than anything else). “We’re adults. We can… divide the bed, I don’t know.”

“ _Zoey,”_ His eyes are tired when they meet hers, eyebrows raised in an ‘I can’t believe you’re really suggesting that’ fashion. After a moment of eye contact, he shakes his head and shrugs with another sigh, grabbing the pamphlet with the conference schedule on it from the side of his bag. “Whatever. We’ll make it work, because _we…_ are professionals. I mean, you’re pretty good at pretending that nothing happened, anyways, so… we’re fine.”

He slaps the pamphlet against his hand and she’s pretty sure she would _believe_ him if he was willing to make eye contact with her while he says it. She’s not sure she _wants_ him to make eye contact with her because each dig about their _situation_ hurts more than the last, solidifying in her mind why an actual thing between the two of them would never work, no matter how much she’s come to terms with how she feels and how _he_ feels.

“Sorry,” His apology comes out so quiet she almost doesn’t hear it as he sits down on the bed, opening up the pamphlet and staring at it, jaw drawn tight and _damn it._ How does he go from being absolutely infuriating and _petty_ to actually making her feel bad for him? (She knows how. She knows exactly how and she wishes she didn’t. She wishes she wasn’t beginning to _understand_ him and care about how he feels. It’s so much easier to _not_ care about how he feels.)

“Any panels look interesting?” Her nervous voice is another figurative olive branch, timid but inviting. If they can’t be friends, they can at least survive the weekend. They can do _that much._

“Uh, yeah,” Okay, it looks like this time he’s accepting the olive branch, albeit awkwardly, instead of walking away. _Cool._ “I’m actually looking into this one, it’s, uh, avoiding b -”

“Avoiding bias in AI?” She finishes the sentence with him, sitting down next to him to look at the pamphlet with him. “Yeah, I was… also looking at that one.”

God, they’re too similar. She was incredibly naive to think they would go the entire weekend going to separate panels.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Zoey questions, as they’ve both wandered back into the hotel room and he’s rooting through his bag for something. They ended up going to quite a few of the same panels and workshops and, in some, actually managed to have a good time and work together. She has to admit that as she plops down on the bed and falls onto her back, she’s feeling pretty good, despite the rocky start of the weekend.

“Somewhere in here,” He’s still rooting around, moving clothes that she would’ve expected him to have already hung up (she remembers all too clearly how much he’d _complained_ about having to shove his button ups and cardigans into a drawer at her apartment, she can’t imagine he feels any different about a duffle bag). “A-ha! There is a bottle of chocolate wine.”

He turns around, triumphant, screwing off the lid and taking a swig.

“My plan was to get sad-drunk alone in my room, but, uh, here we are, so… Feel free to partake.”

She sits up and eyes him warily as he takes another sip before outstretching the bottle to her.

“Fair warning, it tastes atrocious. Like medicine mixed with acid mixed with vodka, but, uh, gets the job done.”

She takes it with a shrug, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a _generous_ sip, ignoring the way it burns her throat in a way that wines don’t usually. She pulls the bottle away with a grimace and nods.

“Yeah, that’s, um, an _interesting_ flavor.” She lets the words hang in the air for a second before she can’t help but let a laugh out, which he meets with his own as he flops down into the chair opposite the bed, lanky limbs lazily falling over the armrests, and she takes another sip through a smile. “It tastes like acid, yet I keep wanting more.”

“Well, hey, save some for me,” He cracks as she takes another sip, causing her to laugh halfway through.

“If I die choking on chocolate wine, you’re gonna have to live with that. Can you live with that?”

“Only if it means I get more of the wine,” He lifts himself out of the chair with another laugh to grab the bottle from her hand, choosing instead to all but collapse on the floor in front of the bed, leaning his left side against the bed and looking up at Zoey as he takes another swig, hiding the grimace it causes.

Twenty minutes later, they’re both sitting on the floor passing the bottle between them as they’re starting to feel tipsy, chatting about nothing - Zoey talks briefly about how her mom is doing, how her brother and his wife and their kid are doing; Leif talks about his siblings for a minute, leading him to start talking about the invitation he’d received for his brother’s wedding.

“I actually - I thought about,” His nail peels absently at the label on the wine bottle before he shakes his head and takes another sip. “Nah, it’s dumb.”

“No, what is it?” She nudges his shoulder as she grabs the bottle from him, also taking another sip as she waits for him to speak, ignoring how close they’ve shifted together and how little movement it actually took for her to touch him.

“I thought about,” His hands wring together now in absence of the bottle, folded over his legs stretched out in front of him. “I thought about how I could’ve invited you, when we were still - y’know, just so my parents would think - ah, it’s not important.”

He looks so dejected as he brings his eyes up to meet hers and in a tipsy haze, her mind jumps back to the meditation room and how vulnerable he had looked and how she misses the way he would kiss her like his whole life depended on not letting her go. Before she has time to think about it, she’s leaning forward to kiss him again, setting the bottle of wine down between them to grab him by the neck and using her other hand to grab his tie, effectively pulling him as close to her as she possibly can. She’ll never get used to how he melts into her, either, hands moving to rest on her thigh before he’s had time to process what’s happening, even when she ambushes him like this, even when he doesn’t think she’s one-hundred percent in it.

She pulls away, reluctantly, letting a heavy breath out of her lungs as she rests her forehead against his.

“That’s not fair, Zoey. Not again.” There’s no malice in his voice, not even bitterness or rightful irritation. He just sounds _tired_ and tipsy and wanting and her gut twists as she presses her hand against his chest, her other hand splaying fingers out to tangle in short blonde hair.

“What if I told you I regret breaking it off? That I might wanna do this for real?”

She can feel his breath hitch in his chest where her hand lays, his heart beating through the layers of his button-up and cardigan.

“I… would think I was dreaming. That any second I’m gonna wake up and I’m gonna be back in San Francisco, alone in my bed.”

“Is it really that hard to believe I would want that?” She tries not to be disappointed when he finally pulls away, making her drop her hand from his neck as he moves his own hands back into his own lap, wringing them nervously again as he shakes his head lightly, a bittersweet vibe settling over their little bubble of the world at the end of their hotel bed.

“Well… _yeah_. I mean, you said it yourself, you can _never_ feel the same and I - I get that, and I know I don’t deserve you, but -” She doesn’t know if it’s the wine or the words he’s saying, but she can’t bear to hear him keep talking, his words reminiscing the exact ones he’d uttered in the voicemail he’d left the night she’d left him in the conference room and she hadn’t had the guts to listen to until after she’d kissed him in the meditation room.

“No, you _do.”_ She interrupts, her hand tugging on his sleeve until he’ll look over at her. “You deserve _better._ You deserve someone who doesn’t freak out the second anything feels _real._ Because I was - I mean I was _freaked the fuck out,_ Leif. You were - you were sleeping over and I liked waking up with you and the good morning kisses and you making coffee in my kitchen and lazy Saturday mornings and it was _domestic_ and I - I freaked. And then you said you loved me, which I _knew_ …” She hesitates, the memory of a very conflicted Leif dancing around her room not being one she wanted to have in her head right now. “I’d have to be _dumb_ not to know, but hearing you say it was... _different_. And my gut reaction was to deny that I felt that way and to - to end it and...” Her hand rubs his arm where she’d still been holding onto his sleeve before dropping her hand to her lap and breaking eye contact. She really doesn’t think she can be this vulnerable with his big, blue eyes reflecting her own. “I know it didn’t look like it, but I cared a lot more than I was willing to show to you.”

“You’re _right,_ it didn’t look like it.” He’s staring at his own hands now and she can see when she glances at him that his eyes are watering. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to handle it if he cries. “I just - I liked you for so long and I knew - I mean, I _knew_ that you didn’t feel the same when we started all this. I liked you when we first started working together and it - it faded over time and there were some times I thought maybe you felt the same. But then you… you started treating me differently and I couldn’t quite figure out why and I started to get that it was completely out of the realm of possibility and then you wrote that peer review and I just - I just knew it wasn’t realistic, y’know?”

She almost _laughs_ at that. She does sputter a bit, actually. It’s _funny._

“What? What’s funny about that?” She feels bad for laughing when he looks at her and she can still see the glint in his eyes where tears were about to fall just moments earlier.

“For the last time, Leif, I didn’t write that peer review.” She’s pretty close to rolling her eyes when he rolls his and lets out a huff of a laugh.

“Right.”

“Seriously.” She shakes her head, grabbing the bottle from where it still rests between them and taking a pull from it, eyes glancing over at him and she can tell he still doesn’t believe her. But it’s not in the arrogant way that it was when the peer reviews were fresh, he looks genuinely _hurt_ and she doesn’t really know what to do with that. _Alright, then. Liquid courage._ She takes another swig. “It was _Joan._ ”

“What?”

“Joan wrote the peer review, that’s why she wouldn’t tell you who wrote it. And, for the record, I think a lot of that stuff was true a year ago. I also think you’ve come a long way since then. I _also_ also think you were a great programmer the whole time. _Also, also… Ha,_ ”

When she stops giggling to herself about her grammar, she realizes he’s been staring at his hands for too long without responding to her, seeming to try to process what she was saying. After another second, she waves a hand in front of his face.

“Earth to Leif?”

“I’m sorry.” It’s abrupt when he says it, head snapping up to look her in the eyes. “For playing the blame game. For… God, it’s so easy to throw stones in glass houses, y’know?”

She doesn’t actually know. She’s a bit confused about what he’s trying to say, but she’s not entirely sure that he knows what he’s trying to say, either, just that it feels honest and vulnerable and she doesn’t wanna take that for granted. She grabs his hand from his lap and he doesn’t stop her, letting her trace shapes across his palm.

She thinks it’s the wine that’s making her feel all fuzzy, but she’s fully ready to accept that it could be her proximity to Leif right now and the moment that they’re sharing in silence.

“I think I love you. I think I was too scared to admit that I was starting to a month ago.”

His eyes move carefully from where he was watching her playing with his hand and she sees fear in them as he processes what she’d said. She’s not really sure how to interpret that; fear that she doesn’t mean it? Fear that she _does?_ All she knows is that she desperately wants to wipe that fear _out_ of his eyes.

Her hand comes up to his jaw slowly, his own hand following it to hold it there, almost like he can’t believe it’s actually there. She closes the gap between their lips silently and softly, twisting her body to bring them closer together, relishing in his hand falling to rest on her thigh. He pulls away far sooner than she would have liked.

“Zoey,” Her name comes out in a breath, his hand moving up and then stilling just below her hip, pulling himself away enough to look into her eyes, no matter how scared he is of what he’ll find there. “I can’t do this if it’s not for real.”

“It’s for real, baby,” The affirmation comes with her hands framing his neck, rubbing softly at his jaw and she can practically feel the tension leave his body, like she’d finally removed the stopper that was keeping it all in there. “I’m all in, if you are. I’m sorry it took me this long to get here.”

He closes the distance again, needier this time, a whimper coming from the back of his throat when her hand travels to the back of his neck again, pushing them even closer together.

“Mhm,” Her free hand grips tight in his cardigan, chasing the taste of the wine they’ve both been drinking in the back of his mouth. He pulls away hesitantly, like it’s the absolute last thing he wants to do as he catches his breath.

He finds both of her hands, removing them from his body to grasp them in his own, stumbling to stand the both of them up before falling immediately backwards onto the bed, taking her with him so that she falls on top of him, a giggle falling out of her mouth with it as she takes the opportunity to lay a sloppy kiss on his cheek and then his jaw and then his neck and then bringing it back to his lips again, hands bracing against his chest until nimble fingers start to undo his cardigan and then, in turn, his button-up, pushing both out of the way until they’re free to roam against warm, bare skin and _she’s missed this._ She’s missed him, the way he feels, the way they melt together and work in perfect synchronicity. Like two pieces of a puzzle that have been trying to jam their other sides together only to find the perfect fit, almost too late, right before the final bell rings. But the bell hasn’t rung, yet, they’re still on time, and they’re fitting together now and that’s enough, she thinks. _Yeah, that’s enough._

* * *

She wakes up the next morning with the buzz of a hangover as she processes that she’s splayed out, practically on top of Leif’s chest and nuzzled into his neck, his arms resting lazily around her and it’s _nice_ as she recalls talking to him the night before and sleeping with him again (it was softer, this time, and more _intimate_ than they’d ever been before; she remembers giggling and soft smiles and a very small amount of crying that she’s _pretty sure_ were happy tears but she can’t be sure).

She pushes herself up to look at him and she’s struck by how peaceful he looks fast asleep like this. She lets her thumb trace over the scar in his eyebrow again, before she rests her hand against his chest and just watches him; his soft breathing, the very little bit of a snore that she can hear from the back of his throat, his soft features where no part of him is on the defense now, no projecting or compensating. Just pure, unadulterated Leif.

She’s surprised that when his eyes blink open, it’s not the soft look she’s gotten used to seeing when he wakes up, where he’d blink up at her and smile before she’d lay a soft kiss on his lips, but a mixed one of fear and hope when he processes that they’re in this position again and he’s just as vulnerable to get hurt as he was a month ago. She would give anything to wipe that look off of his face right now.

“Are you okay?” She questions, dropping her head into the crook of his neck and letting her fingers trace shapes across his bare chest instead of looking at his face, where he still looks so apprehensive.

“Um…” He places his hand over hers, stilling her fingers and with it pressed flat under his, she can feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest, a little bit uneven, but _strong. “_ I just, um, I really don’t want this moment to end and… I feel like it’s going to when you’re a little more awake and a little less hungover, so I wanna hang on to how I feel right now _.”_

 _Oh._ Oh, _Leif._ His heartbeat feels different now. Not that anything’s actually _changed_ , but now that she gets that he’s _scared_ , it feels different, more intense. He’s scared that, despite everything they’d talked about the night prior, she’s still not in it a hundred percent, that she’s gonna decide he’s actually not worth the effort or, perhaps the worst case, that she’d never meant what she said the night before at all.

“Leif, look at me,” Her voice is soft as she pulls back again, pushing herself up so she can look at him and carefully taking her hand from under his to push him by the chin to look her in the eyes, taking in the fear in those glossy blue eyes. _God,_ she wishes she could just take that anxiety away, but she’s the first to admit she’s not exactly done a lot to make him think she _would_ stay and that there’s not a universe where she didn’t mean every word she’d said through wine-drunk lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m in this for real.”

“For real?” He doesn’t bother trying to hide the hopefulness in his voice, taking one of his hands to brush the hair that’s fallen in front of her face behind her ear.

“For real.” She looks in his eyes, seeing them light up as he nods slightly, his hand still hovering by her face, moving in to cup her cheek. She leans in and kisses him again and she hopes that says all the things she can’t put into words right now. _I love you. I missed you. I fucked up, but we’re here now and that’s enough. That’s enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is technically the end of the plot of this fic - the last two chapters are kind of epilogue-ish things that i have planned but i say that to assure you that theres no more angst in case you were like "oh theyre happy but _oh no theres two more chapters left_ " the last two chapters are happy i swear!!  
> i also wanna say thank you to everyone who's commented (and i hope you keep commenting, i genuinely love reading them so much) - you have no clue how much comments actually keep me going and i know i wouldn't have had the motivation to keep going on this fic without knowing there was at least _some_ good reception to it so thank you thank you thank you and please keep commenting i love yall a lot and this fic is very near and dear to my heart


	8. i don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright i changed the chapter count to 8 bc one of the epilogues was ridiculously short so i just tacked it into the other one but!! this fic is done holy crap!!

The rest of the conference is _fine._ They go to panels and events and they try to keep their hands to themselves. There are several times that they _fail_ and he pulls her into a secluded spot and she wants to say _‘we really shouldn’t do this, we’re here **professionally** ’_, but then his lips are on her neck and his hands are pulling her close like this, right here, right now, kissing her and giggling into her neck when she cracks a joke, is the only place in the world he wants to be and she can’t complain because it’s so much better than seeing him across the room and not even wanting to make eye contact (and it’s their business and their business alone if they skip some panels to do some more of that in their room).

He shows her places on campus that he remembers, shows her the conference room that his D&D group booked every week (and she really shouldn’t be surprised that he, of all people, went through the actual, proper channels to book a room for his D&D group to use instead of just sitting on a dorm floor like every other nerd she knew), and points out the bushes outside of his old dorm room where Tobin had once visited and _jumped out of the window_ when he thought Leif’s RA was gonna bust them for drinking (Leif clarifies that not only was he twenty-one at the time, but it wasn’t even his RA, it was his suitemate asking him if he had any ramen that he could steal).

When the conference is over, neither of them really want to go home; they don’t wanna go back to the day-to-day shenanigans of the office where they can’t steal away and press kisses everywhere they physically can. After they’d talked it out through tipsy lips and talked again in the morning with the absence of the wine buzz, the conference had become a sort-of honeymoon period of just _being_ with each other. Even watching panels, they went to the same ones, sat with their hands intertwined. Every workshop had them working together in ways that made her realize exactly how well they complemented each other; where Zoey lacked in ideas and where Leif lacked in application of the ideas, they each picked up the slack, making for a great time working together.

They both feel it when they get into the company car once more, loading up their luggage in the trunk. It’s not that anything’s necessarily gonna be _different_ , (aside from them being together and being willing to talk to each other for more than the two minutes it takes to check in on a bug fix) it’s just that it’s not going to be quite the same as the way they’d been able to bond and get to know each other on an _‘I like you’_ level, instead of the _‘I tolerate you’_ level and, consequently, the _‘I like you but I’d rather die than let you know that’_ level they’d been existing on.

“We still have a day.” Zoey’s own voice surprises her as he sticks the key in the ignition and glances over at her. “We can hang out at my apartment. If you don’t,” She suddenly feels doubtful. What if he really just wanted to go home and shower and sleep for a while? Are they even at a _‘hang out at my apartment for the night’_ stage? She knows that they _were_ ; he was starting to spend more time at her apartment than his own, but that was a month ago when they were just fooling around; it feels _different_ now. “If you don’t mind. If you want to, I mean.”

There’s a pause as he puts the car into reverse and starts to back out, looking through the windshield and she really wishes she was better at reading his expression, because she knows what she _wants_ his face to be saying as he draws his jaw tight and starts driving away from the conference center, away from their little bubble of just _them._

“I do.” He finally responds, reaching for her hand as he pulls onto the main road. “Want to. God, you have no idea how much I do.”

She squeezes his hand and he smiles the most obnoxiously bright smile before looking back out at the road.

When he pulls onto the highway, he hands her his phone again and she hits play on the same podcast, leaning her seat back and letting the breath out of her lungs. She asks him, this time, why he waits until he’s on the highway to hit play (it’s because he gets really anxious when he drives, but he gets even more anxious when he’s not driving, and he doesn’t trust himself not to get distracted, which she is _so_ weirdly endeared by because it’s so weirdly specific but also so appropriate of a fear for _him_ ) and this time he makes comments in response to the podcast, agreeing or disagreeing or laughing or putting his own input in (and she does much of the same, when she has an opinion on what’s being discussed, leading to a twenty minute detour-debate between the two of them) and the air is light and breezy and she finally feels like she can breathe around him. It’s _nice._

When they get to her apartment, she makes the executive decision that they should leave their luggage in the car for a little bit, for the purely selfish reason of wanting to jump his bones as soon as she possibly can. He makes no complaints.

Before they know it, they’re stumbling through her door, giggles falling from their lips as the door is swiftly closed and she’s pressed up against it, his lips immediately finding hers and her hands bunching up in his cardigan as they chase the taste of each other.

She decides very quickly that she’d really like them to be _horizontal_ because she wants to be touching every part of him that she physically can, leaving no part of Leif unturned, so she pushes him by the chest to start stumbling into the living room, making their way towards the couch. What she didn’t expect was for him to stumble backwards completely, catching himself on the armrest of the couch as a loud “meow” echoes throughout the apartment and _shit._ She had certainly forgotten about the cat that Mo had been dropping in to feed for the weekend.

“You… did not have that a month ago.” His voice lilts with a morbid curiosity as he points at the cat that’s now hopped up onto the couch and is stretching its back out while it seems to make eye contact with him.

“Let’s… talk about my microwave being taken apart,” She gestures towards the kitchen doorway, where she’d left many pieces and wires exposed Friday morning when they’d left for the conference. “Because I have an explanation for that one. I do not have an explanation for the cat.”

She _does,_ actually. It’s just not one she really wants to have to tell him right now. Or _ever,_ but she feels like it’d come up eventually, _considering._ In her defense, when she got the cat, she was drunk, sad, and ninety-nine percent sure he would never be in her apartment again.

“Well, now I feel like there’s an explanation for the cat, because if there wasn’t you would’ve just said ‘oh, yeah, I got a cat’.”

The cat’s moved up to Leif’s side now, reaching a paw up to rest on his thigh with a soft ‘meow’ and she sighs, scooping in to pick him up and scratch at his head.

“I…” The rest of the sentence is mumbled, directed more around the cat towards Leif and he raises his eyebrows as he slides down to sit on the actual couch, looking up at her.

“I’m sorry, you what? Not even Jake Long could hear you.” He looks really proud of himself for that reference and she’d honestly think it was _funny_ , if she wasn’t hiding her face in a cat right now.

“You just made _that_ reference, okay.” She brings her face away from the cat and looks above his head, refusing to meet his eyes. “I... _Was very drunk, saw a cat outside, he looked polite and lonely and I cried a little bit and took him in and named him Leif because he reminded me of you.”_

The words come out rushed and she can see the gears turning in his head as she talks, turning her attention to cat Leif as soon as she’d finished speaking simply so she wouldn’t have to see how he actually reacts to that information.

“I’m sorry, you --” She can tell he’s trying not to laugh, but he has the decency to cover it with a cough as he straightens his face. “That cat’s name is Leif?”

“Yes.”

“You _replaced me with a cat?”_

She’s not actually sure if he’s joking right now.

“I did _not_ replace you.” She sets the cat down on the couch and he curls up where she immediately sits next to him, idly scratching the top of his head as Leif rests his head on a fist, staring in disbelief towards Zoey’s coffee table. “You should be flattered! I missed you so much that I got a sad cat!”

He rolls his eyes, but it’s with a smile as he shakes his head and she’d swear he almost looks _relieved._

“I’m flattered,” He scoffs, turning to her and looking past her at the cat that’s absolutely soaking up the attention she’s giving him. _Maybe they are alike._ “Concerned, but flattered.”

She’s grateful when an actual smile accompanies his words.

“So you don’t think it’s horrendously weird?”

“Oh, no, it’s _weird.”_ His actions contradict his words as he grabs her hand and starts toying with their fingers together until they’re intertwined. “ _But…_ I feel like we’ve moved past weird.”

“If we’re all settled on the cat, I think we were in the middle of something when he interrupted us.”

“Oh, _smooth_ , use the replacement cat as a segue, you really know how to make a man feel wanted.”

Despite the teasing tone, he uses the hand that he’s holding to pull her in and kiss her again, picking up right where they had left off with a smile pressed against her lips.

* * *

Going back to work is another story. Leif doesn’t actually know why he’s nervous. He knows she likes him, he has several days worth of quite a lot of sex and her outright _telling him that_ to prove it, he’s just not sure how to act at work. It’s not like people don’t _know_ , they weren’t exactly subtle or careful about it the first time around. But where do they stand? Do they _want_ people to know? Do they want to actively hide it or just let people find out if they care enough to find out?

“We haven’t really… discussed if we wanna tell people at work.” Her eyes land on him as the elevator door closes and he shifts the backpack strap on his shoulder, nervous digits picking at the siding of it. How does she do that? Really see what’s going on in his head like that?

“Right, yeah…”

“I mean, _do_ we wanna?”

“I don’t…” He hushes his voice as the doors open, glancing sympathetically at her as they walk out of the elevator. “I don’t really wanna keep it a secret. I mean, if we’re - if we’re doing this for real, it’s bound to get out anyways.”

“I actually agree,” She nods her head as they walk past Tobin’s desk and Leif tries to ignore the knowing smile he gives him with an under the table thumbs up as he subtly tries to wave him off. “So… do we…”

She stands by his desk now as he takes off and hangs up his backpack, nervous energy radiating between the two as neither really know what to say. He shrugs his shoulders lightly before leaning down and kissing her gently; a silent message; ‘ _this is us, on display, no more secrets, no more hiding’_ as his thumb tenderly strokes along her jawline. He pulls away and opens his eyes, finding her own looking back at him with a small smile.

“I see the answer is _‘we do’_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again to everyone who commented, im notoriously bad at replying to comments ever but you have no clue how much your feedback really means to me, re-reading comments on this fic is what brought it to completion no doubt <3


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